deepundergroundpoetry.com
Industry
In the end,
color sparks then, fades.
They turn brittle to become dust.
In the end,
It was not the thickness of crust,
But bade and blade of the lumberjack
Who called upon life.
Both buying and selling.
In the end
tall, short,
strong or weak,
only the lucky ones remain,
but the way they stand now is not the same.
Like from a strong wind
Bending, breaking,
Twisting and cracking
In the end
bow,
check,
crook,
cup,
knot,
shake,
split or
Twist
Stacked high at The Home Depot
A 2 by 4 in the bed of a pickup truck
The last piece nailed to a coffin or a crib
carved into the handle of an ax to chop down another
In the end
timber.
color sparks then, fades.
They turn brittle to become dust.
In the end,
It was not the thickness of crust,
But bade and blade of the lumberjack
Who called upon life.
Both buying and selling.
In the end
tall, short,
strong or weak,
only the lucky ones remain,
but the way they stand now is not the same.
Like from a strong wind
Bending, breaking,
Twisting and cracking
In the end
bow,
check,
crook,
cup,
knot,
shake,
split or
Twist
Stacked high at The Home Depot
A 2 by 4 in the bed of a pickup truck
The last piece nailed to a coffin or a crib
carved into the handle of an ax to chop down another
In the end
timber.
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